Flings of the Waistcoat Crowd

by Robert Pollard

46 Views Mar 08, 2026

Lyrics

Great days are becoming
A matchlight liquor establishment
Where the factory soaks its scabs
It hangs there like insectrocutioner
Over the big river
Scum of us rinsed by a hard rain
The tar, the teeth & the gear
Yet no trail
All around the camp
And that is our game
To brag and complain
To guess who goes next
To tally the scars
Learn every weakness

Music Video

About

Artist Robert Pollard

Added 3 months ago

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